


Enter the Maze

by Hexiva



Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreamlike, Gen, Surreal, The Maze (Legion), The Monk's Plague (Legion), This is a one chapter fic but chapter 2 is the plain-text version for screenreaders, Unconventional Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: He is trapped in his dreams, and in his dreams everything is okay. But if he wants to survive, he will have to find a way to wake up.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

He is lying on a grassy hill, looking up at the stars. Syd rests in his arms, warm and familiar. 

“You know,” he says, aimlessly, “You know … all those years ago, when we met, I never could’ve imagined we could be so happy now. That things could be … that I could get my happy ending.”

“Why not?” Syd says, resting her head on his shoulder.  
.  
“Because I don’t deserve it,” he says, easily. “All of this … everything I did … I know what I am.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Syd says.

He shakes his head. “It’s not low self-esteem. It’s just - a fact. But sometimes I think . . . this is how it was meant to be. You, and me, and … I’m in control of myself. I’m who I was supposed to be, all along. All that stuff about right and wrong - that doesn’t matter.”

Syd turns her head and smiles and laughs at him, teasing. “But you know you’re not really the one in control, right?” she says, lightly. “Something else is pulling the strings this time. You’re not really you. And you need to wake up now.”

“No,” he hisses, “No, I won’t let you take this away from me again - I won’t - I - ”

And he makes himself forget again.

* * *

He wakes up in the hospital bed, and he sees the doctor waiting by his bedside. A middle-aged man in a cream suit, salt-and-pepper hair and beard, dark eyes. He looks familiar, but he can’t place him. Maybe he doesn’t want to. 

He tries to sit up, and fails. 

“Don’t try to get up just yet,”  the doctor says, putting a hand on his arm.  “Your fever is still up. You’re not out of the weeds yet.”

“What - why am - what am I doing here?” he asks.

“You got sick,” the doctor says.  “You’ve been sick for a very long time.”

He stiffens. “I’m not sick,” he insists. “I’m - fine, it was just - he was hurting me. And now that I’m in control he can’t - he can’t hurt me again.”

The doctor shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed in him.  “Playing the victim again, I see. You know this wasn’t his fault. This was you. All of this was you.”

“I did what I had to do,” he snaps, struggling to sit up. “And what did I get in return? Leave me alone. I know you don’t care about me. I’m not a danger to anyone like this. I can just be - I can - ” His voice breaks. “I can be safe. I can be myself.” 

“But it won’t be real, you know,” the doctor says.  “You can imaginify a kingdom for yourself ... but none of it will ever be real.”

“I don’t care,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Reality is a choice. Reality is a choice. And this is what I choose. I choose to be - ”

The world seems to spin around him, and he feels himself fall down, down into d̵ ̸a̴ ̵r̷ k̵̡̦̯̟͝ͅ ̴̞͈͇̫̇ņ̶͖̣̯̆̅̂̚ ̸͕̳͉̽e̶̠̪̋̿̾̃s̴̨̜̝̮̝̤̫̩̦̫͙̯̔̓͋̔̈͘͜ ̶̢̢̧̠̺̻̯̫̣͇̲͇͕̝̈́͐͛̈́̉͂̍͘͝͠ͅś̴̨̨̙̼͙̰̹͕͓̳͕̠̖̮̈́.

* * *

He walks out of the courtroom, smiling. Another villain defeated. Another monster slain. This is his life now, Division Three’s resident hero. He can be himself here. 

“That was a tricky one,” he comments, to Syd. “I almost thought we were done for for a bit there. Maybe the next one’ll be easier?”

“What about Farouk?” Syd asks, suddenly.

He pauses. That’s a name he hasn’t thought of in a long time. “Farouk’s gone,” he says. “Just like he never really existed. It’s better that way.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Syd says. “You can never get rid of him. If he were the kind of person who could lay down and fade away, none of this would ever have happened.”

He looks away, feeling tears sting in his eyes. “Maybe it would’ve been better if he had. Can’t I just have this one thing?”

“You know you don’t deserve this,” she says, and it’s uncharacteristically gentle.

“This is the way things should be,” he says. “If you think about it, I’m really - I’m really saving the world after all, from myself.”

“You don’t believe that,” she says. “This isn’t about saving the world. This is about saving you.”

He shuts his eyes and crosses his arms, hugging himself. “What do I have to go back to? I can’t just forget about all of this and go back to who I used to be. And if I can’t be this, either - ” He turns away. “What if when all the masks are gone, there’s nothing underneath?”

Syd watches him, with sad, knowing brown eyes. “You know this is a dream,” she says,  “Because if you were awake, you would never have told me that o̷u̷t̴ l̷̖̖̉̿̔ ̵̛̙o̸̧̤͕͂̾ ̵̭̝̈́u̸̬͑́͝ ̵̟̪̰͑̿ͅď̸̳̰͙͓ ̵̱͊̏̌̅ ̸̬͈̘̚.̵̝̭͈̹̽̄̀̕.̸̫͘.̶̝̽͒̂͝ ̶̖͎̖̉̓̚ . . . ”

* * *

The doctor helps him to a chair. 

“Why do I feel so awful?” he manages, putting a hand to his head.

“A fever is your mind fighting the sickness,”  the doctor says, sitting down next to him. 

He leans back in the chair. “Why fight it?” he asks. “I’m tired of fighting, doctor. I spent thirty years fighting. Can’t I just - rest?” He shuts his eyes. “Why won’t you let me go? When we were in the same body, you said - ”

“You’re not alone in here, you know,”  the doctor says. “And he - ”

“No!” he says, standing up. The world sways around him. “I won’t. This is mine. I won’t let him take it away from me. This future, this life, this is - this is what I deserve.”

“No,” the doctor says, evenly. “You don’t.”

“I’m the one who lived it,” he says, staggering back. “I - I need this - I - I can’t go back to being broken - I need - ”

It’s too much. He makes himself forget again.

* * *

Syd is looking at him down the barrel of a gun. He stiffens, recoils from her. “No, no, this isn’t right - ”

“You don’t get to pick and choose, you know,” Syd says. “The good bits from the bad. You did this. You don’t get to steal the good parts, the parts he made, from the parts you ruined. You have to take responsibility for what you did.”

He looks down at the man lying under him on the desert sand, beaten and bloodied. It should be Farouk. Instead, he sees his own face. “Why are you the voice of my conscience?” he asks. 

“Because you never did listen to him. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t be here now,” Syd says. 

He shuts his eyes. “I don’t want to wake up,” he says. “Out there I feel - broken. I thought I would feel better once I was free of him. Instead I feel like - half of me is missing. I look in the mirror and see a monster’s face looking back - because that’s what he made me into.”

“I know,” Syd says.

“Of course you do,” he says, bitterly. “You’re just part of my imagination.” His lips twist. “And the worst part is, you seem twice as real as any of the insects out of there.”

“Your m̵̨̛̦̼̣̙͉͚̖̜̀̋̋̌̃̉̑́̾͂̀͜a̸͈̽͌͌̌̽̈̈́s̸̡̧̛̗̜̰̖̘͋̇̾̊͘͘͝k̷̛̪̜͕̫͋̆̑̓̉̏͌͠ͅ is running,”  she says, and her voice is the doctor’s voice.

He reaches up to touch his face. “So it is,” he says, distantly. “Once again . . .”

“You have to let him go,”  the doctor says.  “Neither of you can be free until you let him go.”

“I can’t,” he says. “It’s been too long. I don’t remember who I was. Now I’m just - what he saw. What I was through his eyes.”

“You chose to be the monster,”  the doctor says, meeting his eyes. “You wanted to frighten him. You wanted to be in control. And you got what you wanted, just like you always do.”

“I can’t take it back,” he says, quietly. “I destroyed myself. If I can’t be him, and I can’t go back to being - to being myself - then - ”

“You can live as yourself,” the doctor says.  “Or die as him.”

“I did all of this to save my own life,” he says. “Was it worth it?”

“Take off the mask,” the doctor says, quietly.

He closes his eyes. And then he reaches up and  tears David’s face away from his own.

Amahl Farouk opens his eyes. He is lying on a carpet, staring up at a carved wooden ceiling, and every muscle in his body hurts. For a terrible moment, panic floods him, and he thinks, _Oh god, I’m trapped in his body, this isn’t me, this isn’t me -_

“Good morning,” says a voice, and Amahl turns his head to see the doctor sitting in an armchair, a glass of wine in his hand.

_No, he thinks. _Not a doctor. Oliver Bird. He feels reality snap back into place, and he slowly, painfully, sits up. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Do I have you to thank for my current - situation?”__

__“If you mean the fact that you’re alive and not trapped in a dream world,” Oliver says, sipping his drink. “Then, yes.”_ _

__“What happened to me?” Amahl asks, rubbing his face. His jaw is on fire, and talking hurts._ _

__“You were in the Maze,” Oliver says, simply._ _

__

__“The Maze.” Amahl shuts his eyes for a moment. He thinks about the chattering teeth, and rubs his aching jaw. “The Monk’s plague.”_ _

__“It originated with you, after all, didn’t it?” Oliver asks. “Or your body, anyway. Maybe your immunity wore off. Or maybe it was just waiting for you when you returned to your body.”_ _

__“So I fell prey to my own trap,” Amahl says. He opens his eyes again. “And you swept in to save me. Why?”_ _

__“You infected David, through your mental connection,” Oliver says. “To save him, someone had to come and free you. I volunteered.”_ _

__How humiliating. The Shadow King himself, in need of rescue. Amahl is too tired to feel any real embarrassment. He feels wrung out, his muscles sore, his mouth sour._ _

__Oliver offers him a hand up, and Amahl doesn’t even think before he takes it. He stands, and Oliver turns to go._ _

__“Wait,” Amahl says, before he can think, and Oliver turns back, tilting his head in faint curiosity._ _

__“Why don’t you stay for a cup of tea?” Amahl asks. “I think we could both use it, no? Tea has a way of grounding one’s self in the world, don’t you think?”_ _

__He doesn’t say _I don’t want to be alone right now._ Vulnerability was so much easier, so much safer, behind David’s face. _ _

__“Tea . . . ?” Oliver says, half to himself. “Ah yes, ‘tea.’ I can’t quite remember what it tastes like. Yes. Yes, I think I’ll stay for just a bit longer.”_ _

__Amahl smiles at him. “I’ll put the kettle on.”_ _


	2. Plain text for screenreaders

He is lying on a grassy hill, looking up at the stars. Syd rests in his arms, warm and familiar. 

“You know,” he says, aimlessly, “You know … all those years ago, when we met, I never could’ve imagined we could be so happy now. That things could be … that I could get my happy ending.”

“Why not?” Syd says, resting her head on his shoulder.  
.  
“Because I don’t deserve it,” he says, easily. “All of this … everything I did … I know what I am.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Syd says.

He shakes his head. “It’s not low self-esteem. It’s just - a fact. But sometimes I think . . . this is how it was meant to be. You, and me, and … I’m in control of myself. I’m who I was supposed to be, all along. All that stuff about right and wrong - that doesn’t matter.”

Syd turns her head and smiles and laughs at him, teasing. “But you know you’re not really the one in control, right?” she says, lightly. “Something else is pulling the strings this time. You’re not really you. And you need to wake up now.”

“No,” he hisses, “No, I won’t let you take this away from me again - I won’t - I - ”

And he makes himself forget again.

He wakes up in the hospital bed, and he sees the doctor waiting by his bedside. A middle-aged man in a cream suit, salt-and-pepper hair and beard, dark eyes. He looks familiar, but he can’t place him. Maybe he doesn’t want to. 

He tries to sit up, and fails. 

“Don’t try to get up just yet,” the doctor says, putting a hand on his arm. “Your fever is still up. You’re not out of the weeds yet.”

“What - why am - what am I doing here?” he asks.

“You got sick,” the doctor says. “You’ve been sick for a very long time.”

He stiffens. “I’m not sick,” he insists. “I’m - fine, it was just - he was hurting me. And now that I’m in control he can’t - he can’t hurt me again.”

The doctor shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed in him. “Playing the victim again, I see. You know this wasn’t his fault. This was you. All of this was you.”

“I did what I had to do,” he snaps, struggling to sit up. “And what did I get in return? Leave me alone. I know you don’t care about me. I’m not a danger to anyone like this. I can just be - I can - ” His voice breaks. “I can be safe. I can be myself.” 

“But it won’t be real, you know,” the doctor says. “You can imaginify a kingdom for yourself ... but none of it will ever be real.”

“I don’t care,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Reality is a choice. Reality is a choice. And this is what I choose. I choose to be - ”

The world seems to spin around him, and he feels himself fall down, down into DARKNESS.

He walks out of the courtroom, smiling. Another villain defeated. Another monster slain. This is his life now, Division Three’s resident hero. He can be himself here. 

“That was a tricky one,” he comments, to Syd. “I almost thought we were done for for a bit there. Maybe the next one’ll be easier?”

“What about Farouk?” Syd asks, suddenly.

He pauses. That’s a name he hasn’t thought of in a long time. “Farouk’s gone,” he says. “Just like he never really existed. It’s better that way.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Syd says. “You can never get rid of him. If he were the kind of person who could lay down and fade away, none of this would ever have happened.”

He looks away, feeling tears sting in his eyes. “Maybe it would’ve been better if he had. Can’t I just have this one thing?”

“You know you don’t deserve this,” she says, and it’s uncharacteristically gentle.

“This is the way things should be,” he says. “If you think about it, I’m really - I’m really saving the world after all, from myself.”

“You don’t believe that,” she says. “This isn’t about saving the world. This is about saving you.”

He shuts his eyes and crosses his arms, hugging himself. “What do I have to go back to? I can’t just forget about all of this and go back to who I used to be. And if I can’t be this, either - ” He turns away. “What if when all the masks are gone, there’s nothing underneath?”

Syd watches him, with sad, knowing brown eyes. “You know this is a dream,” she says, “Because if you were awake, you would never have told me that OUT LOUD.”

The doctor helps him to a chair. 

“Why do I feel so awful?” he manages, putting a hand to his head.

“A fever is your mind fighting the sickness,” the doctor says, sitting down next to him. 

He leans back in the chair. “Why fight it?” he asks. “I’m tired of fighting, doctor. I spent thirty years fighting. Can’t I just - rest?” He shuts his eyes. “Why won’t you let me go? When we were in the same body, you said - ”

“You’re not alone in here, you know,” the doctor says. “And he - ”

“No!” he says, standing up. The world sways around him. “I won’t. This is mine. I won’t let him take it away from me. This future, this life, this is - this is what I deserve.”

“No,” the doctor says, evenly. “You don’t.”

“I’m the one who lived it,” he says, staggering back. “I - I need this - I - I can’t go back to being broken - I need - ”

It’s too much. He makes himself forget again.

Syd is looking at him down the barrel of a gun. He stiffens, recoils from her. “No, no, this isn’t right - ”

“You don’t get to pick and choose, you know,” Syd says. “The good bits from the bad. You did this. You don’t get to steal the good parts, the parts he made, from the parts you ruined. You have to take responsibility for what you did.”

He looks down at the man lying under him on the desert sand, beaten and bloodied. It should be Farouk. Instead, he sees his own face. “Why are you the voice of my conscience?” he asks. 

“Because you never did listen to him. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t be here now,” Syd says. 

He shuts his eyes. “I don’t want to wake up,” he says. “Out there I feel - broken. I thought I would feel better once I was free of him. Instead I feel like - half of me is missing. I look in the mirror and see a monster’s face looking back - because that’s what he made me into.”

“I know,” Syd says.

“Of course you do,” he says, bitterly. “You’re just part of my imagination.” His lips twist. “And the worst part is, you seem twice as real as any of the insects out of there.”

“Your MASK is running,” she says, and her voice is the doctor’s voice.

He reaches up to touch his face. “So it is,” he says, distantly. “Once again . . .”

“You have to let him go,” the doctor says. “Neither of you can be free until you let him go.”

“I can’t,” he says. “It’s been too long. I don’t remember who I was. Now I’m just - what he saw. What I was through his eyes.”

“You chose to be the monster,” the doctor says, meeting his eyes. “You wanted to frighten him. You wanted to be in control. And you got what you wanted, just like you always do.”

“I can’t take it back,” he says, quietly. “I destroyed myself. If I can’t be him, and I can’t go back to being - to being myself - then - ”

“You can live as yourself,” the doctor says. “Or die as him.”

“I did all of this to save my own life,” he says. “Was it worth it?”

“Take off the mask,” the doctor says, quietly.

He closes his eyes. And then he reaches up and tears David’s face away from his own.

Amahl Farouk opens his eyes. He is lying on a carpet, staring up at a carved wooden ceiling, and every muscle in his body hurts. For a terrible moment, panic floods him, and he thinks, Oh god, I’m trapped in his body, this isn’t me, this isn’t me -

“Good morning,” says a voice, and Amahl turns his head to see the doctor sitting in an armchair, a glass of wine in his hand.

No, he thinks. Not a doctor. Oliver Bird. He feels reality snap back into place, and he slowly, painfully, sits up. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Do I have you to thank for my current - situation?”

“If you mean the fact that you’re alive and not trapped in a dream world,” Oliver says, sipping his drink. “Then, yes.”

“What happened to me?” Amahl asks, rubbing his face. His jaw is on fire, and talking hurts. 

“You were in the Maze,” Oliver says, simply.

“The Maze.” Amahl shuts his eyes for a moment. He thinks about the chattering teeth, and rubs his aching jaw. “The Monk’s plague.”

“It originated with you, after all, didn’t it?” Oliver asks. “Or your body, anyway. Maybe your immunity wore off. Or maybe it was just waiting for you when you returned to your body.”

“So I fell prey to my own trap,” Amahl says. He opens his eyes again. “And you swept in to save me. Why?”

“You infected David, through your mental connection,” Oliver says. “To save him, someone had to come and free you. I volunteered.”

How humiliating. The Shadow King himself, in need of rescue. Amahl is too tired to feel any real embarrassment. He feels wrung out, his muscles sore, his mouth sour.

Oliver offers him a hand up, and Amahl doesn’t even think before he takes it. He stands, and Oliver turns to go.

“Wait,” Amahl says, before he can think, and Oliver turns back, tilting his head in faint curiosity.

“Why don’t you stay for a cup of tea?” Amahl asks. “I think we could both use it, no? Tea has a way of grounding one’s self in the world, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t say I don’t want to be alone right now. Vulnerability was so much easier, so much safer, behind David’s face. 

“Tea . . . ?” Oliver says, half to himself. “Ah yes, ‘tea.’ I can’t quite remember what it tastes like. Yes. Yes, I think I’ll stay for just a bit longer.”

Amahl smiles at him. “I’ll put the kettle on.”


End file.
